


Don't Think About It

by ShadeSwift99



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Gen, Mentions of: death pain injury glowing eyes food scarcity, Scattered AU, and general unsettlingness, nobody's having a great time here, none of it described very intensely but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeSwift99/pseuds/ShadeSwift99
Summary: This is a bit of writing for the Scattered AU I'm running on @hermitcraftheadcanons on Tumblr! Go check it out if you haven't already!Context summary: In a (hypothetical at this point) new Season 8, something in the world glitched and the Hermits spawned thousands of blocks from the world center and each other. With regeneration and communication down, small groups have formed as everyone tries to figure out what's going on. Etho, Zedaph, and Tango found their way to each other, but Impulse had the misfortune to spawn in a Guardian temple - and has been stuck in a death loop ever since. Impulse was finally able to break the loop using...means he doesn't entirely understand. He's not even sure if he wants to, really...
Comments: 21
Kudos: 131





	Don't Think About It

Impulse had a totem of undying.

He didn’t remember how he had managed to kill the Evoker. He knew there was no weapon in his inventory, and with the state that his sore and still-shaking body was in, he couldn’t imagine a fight would have gone very well. He didn’t remember killing the bannerman to trigger the raid, either. Whenever he tried to focus on those events, his head turned to aching and static. So, he tried his best not to think. He just clutched the totem tightly in his newly sticky hands, did his best to ignore the extra length and sharpness to his nails, and was grateful.

He needed that totem. Ever since he’d finally heaved his ruined form ashore to collapse on the sand -  _ solid, dry, warm, perfect _ \- survival had been the first thought on his mind. He  _ could not  _ die. He couldn’t go back there, not ever again, not after everything he’d been through. He had no idea if whatever twist of fate had saved him the first time could be replicated again, and he wasn’t eager to find out.

Impulse took a deep breath and shifted the totem to his off hand, preparing to move again. So far, he had only been able to travel in stops and starts, his legs still weak and unaccustomed to the land, to life. He had no idea how long he’d spent in the temple, but it must have been a while to weaken him like this. It certainly felt like an age.  _ Add that to the list of things I can’t afford to think about. _ He braced himself against a tree and rose from the rock he’d been sitting on. Time to move on.

He should probably punch down the tree, try to make some gear, something to gather resources or defend himself with. He’d thought that about every tree he passed on his journey, but every time he stopped the heaviness in his arms and shoulders kept him from action. He didn’t want to go through the motions of the early season again, as though everything was normal. He didn’t want to gather resources. He didn’t want the grind. He just wanted to see his friends again.

Besides, in some part of his mind that he still refused to recognise, he knew he was long past the simple human need for gear.

He put his head down and trekked through the forest, trying not to trip on the undergrowth. He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but as long as he kept moving, he had to find someone eventually, right? Travel wasn’t usually the best advice in survival situations - he’d always been told to stay put, make shelter and wait for someone to find him. He had always been one to follow advice, stick to the guidelines and rules, but...he  _ had _ stayed put. For days, weeks, with no choice in the matter. And no one had come to save him.

A sickening wave of bitterness washed over him. He tried his best to shake it off, but the nagging thoughts remained: none of his friends had come for him. In all the time he’d spent fighting and screaming, swimming and hoping, crying and begging, then limp and silent, then fighting and screaming once more - nobody had come to break the cycle. He had been fully and horribly alone.  _ They were hurting, too. They were dying, too. They had no choice. _

He opened his communicator, scrolled past the pages and pages of his own death messages to the earlier history.

_ <Xisuma> starved to death _

_ <Grian> fell from a high place _

_ <Keralis> tried to swim in lava _

_ <Tango> was blown up by a creeper _

He certainly wasn’t happy to see the evidence of the other Hermits’ suffering, but it helped to squash the creeping fears that they just...hadn’t had time for him. Hadn’t noticed what he was going though, or hadn’t cared. Pushed him away as low priority, the bottom of a long long list of problems to be solved.  _ Impulse is fine. He can take it. We’ll get there eventually. _

_ No. _ Impulse shook his head and continued walking. He wasn’t being fair to them, he knew that. He had no idea what they’d been through themselves without  _ him _ arriving to save them, whether it was worse or better than his fate... _ please not worse _ . He just needed to find someone, anyone. He would find another Hermit, and they would find him, and they would make a plan and he would finally rest without pain and it would all be alright. He said the words over and over in his head as he walked, weaving them into a lifeline, pulling himself closer and closer to hope.

The air burned his lungs slightly, made his skin itch.  _ Did it do that before? _ Sure, it had been a long while since he’d touched anything but seawater, but he didn’t remember the land feeling  _ wrong _ like this, like it wasn’t meant for him, like he was no longer meant for it -  _ don’t think about it. _

Wait. Suddenly, there was an extra sting to the air, an acrid smell that caught in the back of his throat and made him cough.  _ A campfire _ . Or the remains of one. He picked up his pace, ignoring the jolting pains in his bones, hoping he wouldn’t be too late, hoping the fire wouldn’t be abandoned before he got there.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You burned it.”

Tango turned from the crafting table he was working at to see Etho hovering silently over the campfire, staring down at the charred fish with disappointment in his mismatched eyes. He bent down and gingerly picked up the ruined cod by the tail, inspecting it for any salvageable portions.

“Well, technically the campfire burned it,” Tango quipped, but his heart sunk in a dread no joke or excuse could fix. They didn’t have a lot of food to go around in the first place, nevermind after some idiot forgot about it on the fire.  _ Why, why had he been so careless? _

“It’s okay Tango, we still have that fishing rod,” Zedaph said from his perch on a log. The light of the fire played across the thick bandages around his shoulder. Yes, they did have a fishing rod, but Zed had paid dearly for the string to make it, and its durability was a valuable and limited resource.

Oh well. There was nothing they could do about it now but make the best of things. Tango took the fish from Etho and gingerly took a bite, cringing at the charcoal taste of it.

“I’ll get more once it’s light out,” he mumbled through the bitter mouthful. “Don’t want to risk a meeting with a Drowned.”

“We’ll have to keep moving once it’s light out.” Etho drew a scrap of paper from his pack and checked the coordinates for the hundredth time. “We still have a long way to go before the temple.”

“You’re right, we can’t afford another delay. We’ll find food on the way.” Tango shuddered, remembering the line of scrolling death messages. The sooner they could get to Impulse, the sooner they could figure out a way to pull him out of there. He had long since muted his communicator, not wanting to hear the regular beeps or imagine the deaths they implied.

“Hey guys?” Zedaph started, casually. “How much do you know about the mobs in the new update?” His question was calm, but his eyes were trained on the bushes over Tango’s shoulder. Tango froze.

“Why do you ask, Zed?” Etho rested a hand on his stone sword.

“Just...wondering if any of them have glowing eyes, that’s all.” Zedaph slowly stood and reached out, pulling Tango away from the bushes. Tango whipped around and stiffened. His eyes met a pair of pale blue-green ones, not  _ glowing _ exactly, but faintly luminescent, reflecting the light of the campfire. They seemed to trap his gaze and bind it to their unnerving light, forbidding him from looking away….

“ _ Impulse? _ ”

Zedaph’s exclamation broke the trance, and suddenly Tango could see the person behind the eyes. A tattered yellow ‘i’ was just barely visible on his shirt, and thin, jagged Guardian magic scars snaked up and over a face that looked like it hadn’t slept in weeks. Tango’s breath caught, and he took a step forward without even meaning to, reaching forward...only to be stopped by Etho’s arm thrown across his path.

“Stay back.” Etho raised his blade to Impulse’s throat.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Zedaph burst out, tugging on Etho’s arm to try and get the sword away. “That’s  _ Impulse _ , you can’t -”

“Is it though?” Etho demanded, holding the sword steady. “It doesn’t look like our Impulse.”

Tango was still frozen in shock, but he was almost inclined to agree. This world was strange and full of glitches. This could be one of them, a mirage designed to trick them into trusting. But it could also be real...and he didn’t like the look of that blade, nor the look in Etho’s eyes.

Tango held out a hand, silently begging Etho to calm down. “Let’s not be too hasty here. We just need to find a way of figuring out if - “

“I’m Impulse.”

The voice was rough, uncertain and choked with seawater, giving out on the last half of the name so that Tango could barely hear it...but he did. He did, and it  _ was _ Impulse, and he was here and they were all together and safe again -

“Be careful, it could still be -” Etho’s words bounced off of Tango as he raced toward his friend, gathering him up in a hug as tight as his weary arms could muster. He felt Impulse flinch away from the touch -  _ too much, I’m hurting him _ \- before leaning into it, almost collapsing. Tango helped him stumble into the clearing and set him down by the campfire, fully in the light for the first time.

He looked...rough.  _ Wrong. _ His eyes were too wide, his teeth too sharp, his hands were covered in... _ no. Don’t think about it. _ He was here and he was safe now, and that was all that mattered.

Zedaph approached uncertainly, nudging aside the still-guarded Etho and kneeling down beside Impulse. He looked him in the eyes, disbelief fading to be replaced with openness and concern.

“Impulse...are you alright?”

He took a moment before answering. His pale eyes drifted over the flickering campfire, over each of their worried faces, over the totem still clenched firmly in his hand….

“Yes,” he lied. “I think, now, I’m alright.”


End file.
